The man nodded with a quick slash of his chin. “I got children and I don’t want them Detroit assholes getting?—”
“I don’t, either,” Carl interrupted, trying not to air all the political dissent in front of Becca. “But before you start talking about brawn, ask your grandfather what he thinks. Oh wait. You can’t because he was disemboweled by my uncle. And do you know why? Because your grandfather gave his best pumpkin to his pregnant wife for her craving.” His uncle’s clan tax had declared that the best crop always went to Maximus Prime. “Brutality is never the answer.”
“You don’t have to go that far,” Henry countered. Then before Carl’s grizzly took over completely and disemboweled the young father, Henry raised his hands in surrender. “I’m worried. People are saying you can’t even keep Nick in line.”
Carl growled low in his throat, scary enough to silence Henry and make Becca shy away. He hadn’t meant to frighten her, but he was holding on to his position by the barest thread, and he couldn’t afford to let a low man on the totem pole challenge him. Not even verbally. “You ought to be grateful that I don’t maim people whenever they smart mouth off to me.”
A deliberate reminder. Ages ago, Maximus Prime had permanently lamed Henry’s father. Even if Henry couldn’t remember the horror of those many years ago, he would remember his father’s permanent limp. Henry’s hard gaze flickered for a moment, then dropped.
Submission. Good.
But then the kid had to add an extra dig. “We’re just damned scared, is all. Them Detroit?—”
“I know!” Carl barked. “Everybody’s scared and acting out. When the fuck are people going to think first before they do something stupid?”
Henry’s chin shot up. “That’s the problem. We’re not people. We’re more.”
“All the more reason not to go off half cocked. Only a feral lets his grizzly run amok.”
Henry didn’t answer. He just stood there with his eyes downcast in submission, but his mouth and chin firmed into a hard sullen frown. He would bow to his alpha now, but the resentment was building, and Carl didn’t know what to do about it. Especially since if he challenged Nick like everyone wanted, he would then be crucified for killing one of their own. That’s what had happened when he first took control of the Gladwin clan.
And into that taut silence, Becca decided to intrude, her question completely out of blue. “So you have children? They must be really young. Are you worried about what happens when they grow up and shift?”
Henry turned slightly, his mouth softening as he looked at her. “Can’t help but think about that when sitting out here for hours. I got two little girls and they’re feisty as hell.”
“How old?” she asked.
“Eleven months and four years. It’ll be a long time until we face a night like tonight.”
“But you still worry. I thought I’d go insane when Theo started teething. But now he’s out there alone somewhere.” Her gaze slid across the landscape. “There’s always something to freak out about. I don’t know how we get through it.”
“One day at a time, is how,” Henry returned, his words gentle. “That’s what I tell Donna. Just one day at a time.”
Becca smiled, gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you so much for keeping watch. I cannot tell you how reassuring it is that someone who cares is helping him. A stranger.”
“Aw.” The man ducked his head. “Theo’s one of us now. That means you are, too, and we Gladwins protect our own.”
“I can see that,” she said, then she reached forward and squeezed his arm. “Thank you again.”
Henry patted her hand in response, all aggression gone from his body. And then Becca gasped as if she’d just remembered something.
“I nearly forgot. We brought stew for you.” She reached over and pulled the basket from Carl’s hand. “I’ll bet you’re hungry.”
“Sure am, if it’s Marty’s special stew?” he asked, looking at Carl.
Becca answered for him. “If by special you mean with a half bottle of brandy in it, then, yes, she made it overly special.”
“Not possible,” Henry said with a grin as he took the basket. “Welcome to the clan, ma’am,” he said. Then he nodded briefly to Carl. “Mr. Max.”
“Stay safe, Henry.”
And with that, the man trotted back to his truck with Carl’s breakfast. Carl watched the man go, seeing that his movements were casual, almost jaunty. Which, given that he’d been a half breath away from challenging the Max, was beyond startling. “How’d you do that?” he asked, his voice too low for even shifter ears to hear.
“What?”
He didn’t have the words to answer. In just a few sentences, she’d diffused Henry’s resentment into nothing. “If I’d known all he wanted was my stew, I’d have sent someone hours ago.”
She brushed away one of the weeping willow branches as she moved to the ladder. “It’s not the stew he wanted. Just someone to understand his fears.”
